This Time Around
by schautomatic
Summary: "Phil steals Dan's dream diary to read it. Dan comes back right when Phil finds a sex dream. No name, but it's with "him". Dan flips out, Phil is curious." - phan prompt by sammylostshoe on tumblr (strayed a little. or, okay, more than a little, so oops... hope you like it anyways?)


Dan keeps a dream diary.

It's smooth black leather, a bit rough around the edges now, pages crisp and creamy and clean. He had been strolling around the city a few years ago when he saw it in the corner of his eye - a simple, elegant journal in the window of a dusty secondhand shop - and found himself drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. ("You can journal in it," the ancient shopkeeper had croaked hopefully, eyeing Dan's wallet. "Write down your dreams, or something of the sort.")

It's tucked away in his room among stacks of old video games and DVDs; Dan is fairly certain that no one will snoop around there, and Phil knows where he keeps his porn stash anyways, so he shouldn't be poking around Dan's belongings.

On mornings when he wakes up trembling, nerves shot with terror, he stumbles to his diary's hiding place (generally knocking a few dozen DVD's off the shelf in the process and inciting muffled protests from Phil through the wall), scrawling down as much as he can remember with shaking fingers and chattering teeth.

When he gradually achieves consciousness, borne by the cresting waves of a sweet dream, he drowsily transcribes what he recalls as well, a sleepy grin breaking across his face.

Occasionally, there's a dream that leaves him damp and sticky, and he has to ball up his sheets and sneak off to the laundromat before Phil wakes up. He writes those down, too, blushing a bit in the dim morning light.

Today, he tucks the diary away and slips his fountain pen back into his desk, tosses on a soft plaid shirt and skinny jeans, drags fingers quickly through his hair, rummages around for his tattered wallet.

"I'm going out for a while," he calls out as he toes on a pair of sneakers (he can't remember if they're his or Phil's, but they fit), and pulls the door shut behind him.

* * *

Phil is _bored,_ and Dan isn't home yet and he really, really needs to punch a wall (but that would hurt), or ride some lions, or something exciting that like. He pokes listlessly at his laptop, turns on the TV and flicks it back off with a huff, paces through the kitchen and wishes Dan hadn't eaten all the Maltesers because hey, he kind of likes them too.

In retaliation, he decides to creep around Dan's room for a bit. Dan hasn't updated his Playboy collection, much to his disappointment. His internet history is devoid of any interesting tidbits as well, and Phil is halfhearted punching Dan's pillows when he sees Kiki's Delivery Service on the shelf, and hey. A Studio Ghibli film marathon doesn't sound so bad, although he's watched all of the movies (how many times? into the double digits by now, he's sure).

He's reaching for the DVD when something catches his eye - something black on the shelf below the Japanese animated films, and what has Dan hidden away here?

A book, some kind of journal, Phil realizes gleefully as he finally frees it from its hiding place. Ohh, it's some kind of dream journal, which is even better. Haphazardly leaving the DVDs scattered across Dan's bed, he returns to the safety of his own room, article of conquest held triumphantly aloft (he hopes no one can see him through the window).

And wow, Dan has some pretty weird dreams. There's even one about giant decapitated dolls trying to molest him, which probably occurred soon after that one incident with the fanmail (Dan managed to attract the _weirdest fans_; he probably had a black-purple aura of creepiness around him, or something).

_Oh,_ and what is this? A wet dream, it seems - and boy, is Dan never going to hear the end of it. Phil is going to tease him _for ages_.

_... the press and slide of hips, soft lips and gentle nips, cool hands warming at the touch..._

_... feather-light whisper of lips against my ear, shushing me as a hand slips into my pajama bottoms..._

_... so hot and delicious friction, answering hardness_ -

Oh, god, Phil understands with cold shock, ice-water dousing his consciousness. It's a _him._ Dan had once admitted to being bisexual, a long time ago, but he'd written it off later as bicurious-ness, a phase, but no, he actually does find men sexually attractive still and oh, _crap._

"Just what," and Phil jerks out of his reverie, "do you think you're doing, reading my journal." Because Dan is standing in his doorway (and when had he come back, Phil hadn't heard him at all, and crap, Dan looks disappointed and not a little annoyed, crap-crap-crap).

* * *

Dan hums a bit, drumming his fingers against the elevator and watching floors rush by through the crack in the door. The plastic handles of his shopping bag are digging into his hand, and he shifts uncomfortably (he'd put the bag down, but it's almost his floor and) - _ding_ - (see, he was right).

He fumbles for his keys, wondering if he should just make Phil open the door, but Phil would probably take a good ten minutes and Dan would just be there, fidgeting in the hallway and acquiring unseemly shopping-bag welts in his hand.

The door opens with a soft click and Dan staggers into the room, depositing the groceries on the couch and flopping down with a boneless sigh. He was never going to carry around that many bottles of soft drink again, ever. Phil's bedroom door is ajar, so Dan pokes his head in, an aborted "Hey" on his lips as he sees that Phil is _reading his diary_.

"Just what do you think you're doing, reading my journal," he growls and Phil's head snaps up, guilt clouding his too-blue eyes.

"I just," he stammers, "I was, I didn't mean to," and Dan doesn't wait to hear him finish, just snatches his journal back and _shit._

It's opened to that one entry, that dream with _him._

Dan snarls, and one hand whips out to fist around Phil's shirt, to tug him closer so he can seethe, low and deadly, "Do not touch my personal belongings. Ever. Don't you have _any_ sense of respecting people's privacy," and he's practically yelling now but he really doesn't give a fuck, because Phil saw the dream and Phil knew that he was into guys now and he probably suspected that Dan harbored some kind of fangirly-romantic feelings for Phil, probably thought that was why he'd stalked his way into Phil's life in the first place, and fucking bloody hell why couldn't Phil just stay in his own goddamned room and not look in Dan's private journals.

He's looming over Phil now, hand still gripping his shirt. At some point he had backed Phil into the wall and heat pools low and tense in his body when he realizes that they're in a somewhat compromising position, coupled by a renewed flare of anger because whatthefuck, Phil is blinking up at him with a mixture of nervousness, cluelessness, and _curiosity,_ like oh-look-my-roommate-is-really-bisexual-and-maybe-he-likes-me-i'd-laugh-so-hard-if-he-did.

* * *

Phil's gaze flickers down to the hand wrapped in his shirt and winces (it might actually be Dan's shirt, but he still hates to see any clothes destroyed like this). Dan appears to be trying to skewer Phil with his glare, and Phil should probably try to properly think through what he's going to say because Dan looks dangerously volatile, but the words leave his mouth before his brain processes them and,

"I-didn't-know-you-were-bisexual", he blurts out (and cringes immediately). Dan looks murderous, and a spike of real fear shoots through Phil as he vows to take lessons in tactfulness if he survives this.

"I mean," he rushes on, "I don't mind that you are or anything, I'm not going to judge you for it, I'm bisexual too and I know you've never, and I'm really, really sorry for reading your journal I should have respected your personal diary and I'm so, so sorry, really I am" (and he had to stop, wheezing, because he'd forgotten about breathing).

Dan still looks like a wrathful god and hasn't let go of Phil's shirt, and his anger-reddened lips are _very close_ and Phil suddenly remembers - _soft lips and_ - and unthinkingly, he tilts his face up to press a gentle kiss to Dan's mouth.

Dan goes cross-eyed for a moment and looks so shocked that Phil can't help the hysteric giggle from bubbling out, and dammit, self-restraint and sensibility, about that.

* * *

Phil is apologizing, all puppy-eyed and sorrowful and regretful, spouting some nonsense and Dan just scowls and tries not to stare too much at Phil's throat, the nervous bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallows and his deliciously defined jaw and holy mother-of-god, Phil is kissing him and it's perfect and all his anger is swept away in an instant until Phil _laughs._

Then Dan's fury floods back, vision darkens and he's filled with the desire to destroy and maim and kill, because Phil was just toying with him, he kissed him so that he could see the dumb-struck look on his face, and how _dare_ he, and Dan slams him back against the wall with a thud and presses up against him, hard enough that the pleasure singing from his treacherous body at being so close to Phil borders on pain (but not enough to mirror the jagged agony in his chest).

Two could play this game; Phil asked for it, so he was going to get it. A fierce wrench, and Phil's shirt is open, buttons skittering across the floor. "Ah," Phil begins, so Dan silences him with a kiss, bruising this time, clashing teeth and blood. Sharp grind of hips and Dan hisses into Phil's mouth (because he'd be damned if he didn't wring as much fucking pleasure as he could out of this).

* * *

A bit dazedly, Phil tries to remember - what was he going to - and the friction is absolutely divine and he can't concentrate because Dan is kissing him, rough and dominating and he's ridiculously, dizzyingly turned on. But no, he recalls now, and "Dan," he gasps, head hitting the wall with a painful crack, "the giggle," and he squirms to keep his mouth free, "I was just nervous I wasn't laughing at you for, for whatever you think," and Dan's eyes are still cold and blown, so Phil adds with an exasperated cry, "I'm _attracted_ to you, don't you understand, I'm not making fun of you, Dan _listen_ to me," and Dan is finally looking at Phil and thank god, because he still looks suspicious but the emptiness in his eyes is gone and there's just a hint of hope and okay, Phil thinks he can work with this (intelligently, this time around).

**a/n: thanks for reading :) gross abuse of italics, i know (i couldn't stop myself; i think i was possessed by some demon chihuahua spirit or something).**


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